Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(43)

Isabelle choked on her words as she tried to get them out as fast as possible. “No, no, I just heard the music, and it was so beautiful and—”

“Beautiful until you saw my scars, is that it?” Dominique roared.

“No!”

“Well, if you want to look, look!” he yelled, stripping off his gloves and throwing them at her feet. “Take in your fill! It wouldn’t be the first time someone was curious. Surely it won’t be the last! You should at least see what type of creature shares your bed, touches your body, and brings you pleasure.”

Isabelle kept her hands firmly at her sides. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The pain in her foot was intense, but the pain in her heart, the way it skipped a beat when she saw the visible hurt across Dominique’s features, nearly killed her.

“Here! Feel!” His eyes held unshed tears as he gave a mocking grin and pulled her hands into his.

She pulled back, not out of repulsion, but out of fear. He was acting mad, yet after all they had been through the day before, she knew his tactics well.

Hobbling over to him on her aching foot, she took his hands within her own and kissed the jagged scars, allowing her tears to flow freely over the marred white skin.

Dominique shook; his eyes were fixated on her face in a mixture of awe and outrage.

“I kiss the beast, I kiss the man, I kiss my husband, whom I love. Look into my eyes, Dominique. This is not the look of disgust, it is the look of acceptance.”

His eyes closed and a tear escaped his before he could reach up and stop it.

“I cannot keep you,” he choked. “I cannot do this. I—” He jerked away. “This is my life, my burden, my darkness. Isabelle, you do not belong here. You belong in England, where men will fall at your feet and women will adore you. Eventually your flame will go out. Isn’t that what fire does when exposed to the cold, damp, darkness of the world? I cannot be responsible for it.”

“Am I not strong enough to help us both?”

“It isn’t a matter of strength, love.” Dominique cursed and ran his scarred hands through his hair. “It’s a matter of choice. And I’m making the choice for both of us. I’ve already made arrangements—”

“You’re getting rid of me?” Isabelle cried. “Why, why would you do this? After everything we’ve shared? I don’t understand. After your pretty speech about me staying? Do you even know your own mind?”

“Understand this.” Dominique grabbed her arms, pulling her flush against his body, and kissed her forehead. “You are perfection, but beauty and beast do not mix, they do not pair. The beast will eventually devour your beauty, and I refuse to let that happen. Now run along to bed.”

Despite the throbbing in her foot, Isabelle felt numb. Nodding her head, she limped back to her rooms, but felt nothing at all, not even the pain in her foot. Sleep wouldn’t come, so she changed into her riding habit and went down to the stables.

Hunter was already there, readying his horse.

“Take me with you?” Isabelle asked in a small voice.

Hunter cursed. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Isabelle began crying all over again. “He’s—he’s giving me up!”

“To Napoleon?” Hunter asked with eyebrows lifted and an amused grin plastered across his handsome face.

Stupid man! Why did he have to jest at such a time! “No, you idiot! He’s sending me back home! And we, that is to say, I mean, last night...”

“Blast! Did he…” Hunter's face turned a bright red as he cursed and kicked the cold ground with his boot. “Let me speak to him, just, please wait before you do anything…irresponsible.”

Isabelle nodded and patted the horse already saddled and grazing near her.





Chapter Twenty-one


I shouldn’t drink. The music always blurs when I numb my mind with brandy. I promised myself I would never be the type to drink over a woman. Lovely, proving one’s theory so horribly wrong.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



“I am not your nurse maid!” Hunter yelled, pushing the door open to the practice room where Dominique had fallen asleep the night before.

“And aren’t we all so grateful that you aren’t.” Dominique yawned. “What the devil are you doing up at this ungodly hour? There are no tavern wenches, nor do I see any French soldiers within my vicinity. Can you perhaps bellow elsewhere? My head aches.”

“Does that hard head of yours remember any conversations from last night? Or have you chosen to forget that you told your wife you no longer needed her?” Hunter paced in front of Dominique, slapping his leather gloves against his thigh.

Dominique winced. “I did nothing of the sort. I merely explained that I didn’t want her to feel trapped. I want her to choose to be with me, not be here because she is married to me or feels there is no other option. I stole that choice from her; yes, I protected her from danger. But I’m sure things have righted themselves within her family.”

“Interesting,” Hunter murmured, pausing in his stomping.

“What?”

“Your stupidity. Such a horrid case of it that I’m more amazed than appalled.” Hunter cursed and took a seat opposite Dominique. “When a woman is told she should scurry on home, she takes it literally. She thinks you do not want her.”